Abel Ferrara in Shorts

For years, I was ashamed to admit how much I liked the films Abel Ferrara. Ashamed for liking a director whose films were oozing with sleaze and violence, yet had a unique quality to them that I couldn't put my finger on. There's something incredibly genuine about them — as if Ferrara himself knows (too well, perhaps) the denizens of the world his films are set in. In 1985 I saw The Driller Killer, Ms. 45, and Fear City within days of each other. Living in California at the time (and absolutely miserable), Ferrara's gritty images of some of New York City's nastiest sections was like comfort food for me. That was the New York I left behind, and not since Taxi Driver had a filmmaker captured the energy and tension of those neighborhoods with such bleakly astute realism. I was horrified, but I was home. Years later, I still find myself at odds to explain exactly what it is I like about Ferrara's films. It was a relief, then, to hear Ferrara's biographer Brad Stevens say the exact same thing in the mini-documentary, A Short Film About the Long Career of Abel Ferrara. Stevens goes on to say that it is a difficult task, for Ferrara and his films can't be pigeonholed into merely one thing. This goes a long way in explaining the difficulty I had in choosing one of his films for this blogathon — I couldn't think of a jumping off point that I could satisfy in a simple blog post. As a result, I decided to concentrate on his short films, primarily to see if they contain the same themes and ideas found in his features, or if they were merely experiments or diversions — the cinematic equivalent of a B-side.

Before he directed his first feature, The Driller Killer (if we discount his pseudonymously directed porn film, Nine Lives of a Wet Pussy), Ferrara made four short films, three of which are included on the 2-DVD release of The Driller Killer. (The fourth, a film called Not Guilty, in which Ferrara himself plays Keith Richards, is sadly absent.) The earliest of these is the six-minute silent, Nicky's Film (1971). An exercise in surrealism, it opens with an out-of-focus panning shot of a sleeping woman. Cut to a man looking out a window with paranoia at two men (Hasidim?) standing by a car. A man at a desk in a snow covered landscape. A party. The paranoid man takes a knife and collapses. And just as it began, the films ends on the sleeping woman. Was it all just a dream? Other than the odd framing that Ferrara continues to favor, there isn't much else here that rings familiar. Still, it is an oddly compelling film that I found myself watching several times.

Ferrara's second short, The Hold Up (1972), is his earliest example of class conflict and moral choice — a theme that resonates through King of New York, with it's dichotomy of working-class heroes versus upper-class gangsters. Shot silent with poorly synced dialog, it tells the story of Johnny and his two buddies, or, in Ferrara's own words, "three fucking blue collar assholes". The trio work at a local factory, though Johnny has the advantage of being married to the daughter of the factory owner. Johnny is spared when layoffs occur, but agrees to join his now-unemployed friends in robbing a gas station, even though he has no need of money, and a wife and child to consider. The lure of male bonding and friendship triumphs over moral correctness. Yet when the three are arrested, only Johnny avoids jail time, thanks to the influence of his wealthy father-in-law. A rather simple look at how punishment is meted out to the haves versus the have-nots, The Hold Up is notable for being Ferrara's first collaboration with long-time screenwriting partner Nicholas St. John.

The third and most fully formed of his early shorts is Could This Be Love? (1973). Oddly described by Ferrara as a romantic comedy, this would have worked very nicely as a first feature, though it's surprisingly powerful at only thirty minutes. Once again, class is at the root of the film, with its story of two bored, wealthy Connecticut housewives (or at least how a kid from the Bronx imagines them). Jackie (Ferrara's live-in girlfriend at the time, Nadia von Loewenstein) and Renee sit around at home, paint, get high, and listen to Rolling Stones records. Taking a trip into Manhattan to buy some "special Champagne", they decide to slum it for lunch and head into a Manhattan dive bar. There they meet Cathy, a local prostitute. Befriending her, it's not long before the three are back in Greenwich, partaking in a little late-afternoon lesbian sex. They invite Cathy to stay for the evening, as Jackie's husband is hosting a party for Mr. Gatto, the elderly, wealthy owner of a chain of department stores. Mr. Gatto falls for Cathy (unaware of her profession), while the two couples cruelly mock her while in earshot. Both Could This Be Love? and (to a lesser extent) The Hold Up are strikingly reminiscent of Fassbinder, with their emphasis on behavior as a function of class and social standing. The three women of Could This Be Love? are equal in that none have found true happiness or satisfaction. But whereas Jackie and Renee have the financial means to find material replacements for their Sehnsucht, Cathy turns to prostitution, which, as Fassbinder shows in Love is Colder Than Death, is last stop of longing and hope. What made watching the shorts even more entertaining was the commentary that Ferrara recorded for the DVD. With a voice that is equal parts Bob Evans and Marlon Brando (with a touch of Bob Guccione), Ferrara speaks openly about his cast and crew, and much of what he has to say is far from kind. He even recorded a second commentary track for Could This Be Love?, just so he could spew invective about Nadia von Loewenstein, who broke his heart and threw him out not long after the film was completed. The commentary tracks alone make the discs worth owning. What is lacking from all three of these films is the desire for redemption, a key trait of many of Ferrara's anti-heroes. As a young filmmaker, he was no doubt driven more by his cinematic influences than a need to explore the effects of his religion on his art. Fans of Ferrara who share in my perplexity will no doubt appreciate the insight that these films offer into the developing mind of the future genius.